The Forgotten One
by Town Coutaux
Summary: Mere hours after Drossel's demise, the forgotten one awakens in a dusty closet. Venturing out of it was probably the worst thing she could have done...
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I'm going to take a chance and have my first posted fanfic be an OC one. Hopefully it won't be too bad, and I'll definitely be posting some non-OC stories in the future (you know, once they're out of the revising stage)... I would really appreciate some feedback, be it good or bad! **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I'll probably be updating weekly, so keep an eye out! **

**Finally, with extreme reluctance, I must admit I do not own anything except my own creation (here I assume an Oscar-winning pose of dejection). Read on.**

CHAPTER ONE

The first thing I knew was the dust. It filled my nose and lungs, prominently tactile on my skin. It was an odd sensation—to be blanketed in it. Soft and stale all at once. I wondered, vaguely, if I would be able to free myself from it. I had no adequate judgment of the depth of the grit; it might be three feet high for all I knew. I dismissed the thought. I had no desire to move.

And yet then, most discreetly, a prickling, tingling stir began to vibrate through my fingers, spreading quickly through my arms and down my spine. I felt my hands grip and un-grip, experimenting stolidly with my surroundings. I became aware that I was in a chair, wooden, from the feel of it, and I was sitting tall and erect. My arms rested stiffly on the armrests in quite an unnatural manner, it was almost as if someone had positioned me with great care.

The buzz made its way down, and I recognized the feel of numerous petticoats scratching against the stockings on my legs. My shoes were tight, uncomfortable, and without heels. I could feel the weight of many, many skirts piled on top of my lap.

The more I observed, the more interested I became. I had yet to open my eyes, so when I could finally identify one appendage from another I decided it was time. With great difficulty, as the film of dust had added weight, my eyes slowly exposed themselves. I blinked.

Wherever I was, it was dark. I could make out the vague outlines of a wooden bench directly across from me, and a shelf above that. I stared. The wall seemed to be made of brick, quite plain. Judging by how close it was, I assumed I was in some sort of closet. I pondered this. Why did I awake here, covered in dust? More information was needed. I decided to turn my head.

The result was a loud _CRACK!_ I froze in mild surprise, but as a feeling of unimaginable relief flooded through my neck I turned it again. Several loud and alarming cracks, snaps, and pops later, I had managed to get to my feet. My body was almost pulsing with relief; I had been so stiff for so long that the movement was glorious. Not only that, but I had located a door, a way out, and I was quite ready to depart.

I took a step towards the egress.

_SNAP!_

I had been expecting it, and after the moment of tightness had passed I prepared to progress again. However, I found myself rooted to the spot. I had detected a voice.

"_Oi—did you 'ear that?"_

It had come from outside the door.

"'Ear what, Ted?"

"_Sounded like a shooter almost… quick, put out the light."_

"Naw, Ted, I've on'y got me one more match."

"'_Least be quiet then..."_

I heard the man who was not Ted sigh. Rooted to the spot, I noticed a flicker of golden light teasing at the crack under the door. Footsteps.

"Listen, Ted, this 'ear's the Mandalay Manor. Ain't no one's lived innit for _years_. There ain't no one here, man up."

"_I'm _here," I heard myself whisper. My eyes were wide as I examined the crack beneath the door, now bursting with golden rays. They were just outside the door…

Apparently offended as his manliness was questioned, the man named Ted had stopped whispering.

"Righ', well let's just get the bounty and go."

The two men's blundering footfalls faded, slightly muffled by the dust that seemed to be covering everything. Mechanically, I straightened.

"Bounty?"

I wondered what could be in such a place as this. They had mentioned it was a manor.

Slowly, methodically, I came to a conclusion. These men were stealing. Stealing is not to be tolerated. I needed to go stop them. My head buzzed with thought as my mouth breathed the words:

"I will wait."

In silence, I listened for the men to pass again. The minutes ticked by, and I stood alone except for the dust. Church bells rang in the distance. It had been almost an hour.

_Trump… trump, trump…bada-flump!_

The muted bumps came from below. Gears turned and I decided they were already downstairs, having gone down another way. Perfunctorily, I reached for a knob. To my disappointment, there wasn't one.

"_Load 'em up!_"

The voice was muffled, but I knew they were preparing to leave. With a spark of irritation, I touched my fist to the door and gave a push. To my contentment, the door came crashing to the floor. The noise had brought the proceedings downstairs to a halt. I could almost feel the thieves' frantic hearts beating.

"Lovely."

As silently as possible with my newly-operating joints, I proceeded down the hall and glided down the stairs. There they were, stock still, focusing in the complete opposite direction. I took that opportunity of being unseen to position myself authoritively on top of the banister. I clasped my hands behind my back and kept my legs tight together, preparing to speak.

"Why are you pilfering?" my voice came out softer and more monotonous than I expected, but I continued on, "That's quite rude to pilfer from one's house. Much worse, I should think, than from a shop."

The words, as I say, were soft, but the effect was instantaneous. Before I could realize what was really happening, an alarming series of cracks erupted as the men turned, pistols loaded.

"So… so you're shooting."

The words had barely slipped from my mouth when the pellets hit, showering over my torso and into my skirts. I felt heavy thuds and mild shock. I had not expected this. I was going to die.

The hits knocked me from the banister and I crashed to the ground. The bangs and cracks and puffs of smoke had not relinquished, the men must be truly surprised to still be attacking me. I quietly waited for them to leave, my ears ringing. After a few moments, I realized the fire had ceased, as no more bullets were pelting my skin with those same heavy thuds. It was too dark to see. They had left.

The smoke was suffocating. Not wanting to die feeling the same dust I had just awoken in, I managed to stand and quietly teeter my way to where I had spotted an exit. I found the handsome door, grasped the handle, and tugged.

Out into the night. Across the lawn. Through a building. Teeter. Teeter. Teeter. Though my injuries, I suspected, were extreme, I eventually found myself on wet cobblestone in a claustrophobic alley. The fact that I had travelled so far was mildly unsettling.

"Am… am I injured badly…?"

I could not bring myself to look at the wounds. Instead, my eyes intently gazed at the cobble below.

"This… this looks rather suitable. I rather think… I'd like to die… here."

With those words, I carefully laid myself down. Clasping my hands over my chest and taking one last empty gaze at the empty sky, I closed my eyes.

I waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am pleased to present the second chapter to 'The Forgotten One'. I'd like to again thank my two reviewers/followers, Phantom Ou and Esmeralda Wolfsbane, for your wonderful and supportive reviews. I am very grateful you took the time to respond and follow, it is most encouraging! I'd also like to mention that I may prove myself rather dreadful at keeping constant chapter posts, though I shall try to post them as consistently as possible!**

**A final ado: It is my greatest regret that I do not own Kuroshitsuji... **

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

_Dawn was approaching. The inky blackness of the night was fading into a murky gray dimness. Far in the distance, the bells of a church broke through the misty air, echoing through the city. And then the world was silent._

_But not for long._

_The scream, the bloody and horrific scream, pierced the peaceful air. Shrill, terrified shrieks; so high that the panes of glass on the nearby shops vibrated with tension. Someone had died. Or was dying. No other circumstances could produce such shrill and head-splitting results._

_And so the serenity of the morning was gone._

* * *

"Mmm… mm-hm. Yes."

Muttering.

"Yes. I understand. Thank you."

Against all odds, my sense of consciousness seemed to be returning. Along with it, an unpleasant and unusual sensation in the pit of my stomach. I was not forgetful, previous events had not eluded my notice. So...

_How?_

My lips formed the word, but I couldn't bring myself to produce sound. The unease grew. Why could I still sense myself? The cobble was cold and hard against my back. My hands were clasped. I calculated. This was not Heaven. Neither was it the contrary. I was stuck in between, sandwiched on Earth. This was absolute.

"Name… unknown… found… six o'clock, was it?"

"As far as I can tell. Girl's still in complete shock, won't stop sobbing and wailing about it. Women, honestly."

The gruff and official sound of men conversing was loudest and closest above all the commotion. Beneath their voices, I could just make out others murmuring excitedly.

"How awful!"

"Do you see how he positioned her? Right cruel of the murderer, must've been a morbid fellow…"

"So young, so young…"

I felt my teeth clench. I wished they would silence themselves. My body was still aching and I desired rest. Unfortunately, their words interested me. Gears turned in my head. Again, my lips moved, and this time barely a whisper escaped.

"Murder. How unfortunate."

I did not want to open my eyes. I was not as excited as the observers over a dead body, and I deemed the corpse quite unnecessary to examine. If only they would silence themselves, perhaps I could be at peace again. Or at least, I could devote some time to deciphering why I was not dead yet.

"…if Jack the Ripper..."

"Nonsense!"

One of the bureaucratic-sounding men, a speaker who seemed quite nearby, addressed the jumble of voices that I assumed was a crowd.

"Jack the Ripper, as has been assured, is no longer a threat. It is in everyone's best interests that you return to your homes now."

The crowd, on the contrary, erupted. I felt my mouth twitch.

"Oi! How do you know that for sure? We haven't been told anything!"

Voiced agreement.

"Quiet, quiet, all of you! Look, the victim has been attacked with bullets. This is clearly not in the Ripper's manner! However, I would advise you to stay in your homes until this ordeal is sorted out. The current situation is quite dangerous."

That got them moving. I heard muttering and a clamour of footfalls as the crowd meandered towards safety. I pondered, briefly, my own security. Lying about on the street must certainly be inviting to any potential threats, and as I was clearly not dying or dead…

"Perhaps I should value my life."

As that spark entered my head, I slowly opened my eyes to greet a sickeningly bright gray sky. Unfazed, I blinked once. If I were to protect myself, I would need to move. Therefore, slowly and automatically, I sat up.

And I was met with a screech so primitive it had to be non-human.

Scanning the area for the source, I found my assumptions had proved correct. A sizeable crowd was gathered in the alley. Spaced evenly about the area, authoritative looking men in trench coats seemed to be restraining the masses. Others were scribbling in notebooks. Rather, they were doing so before the scream. Now, every head was turned towards me.

I found and locked eyes with the culprit as she shrieked again. The situation was rather perplexing.

"Strange, did they only just notice I was here? Why does the ugly woman scream?"

No one was moving, and my head began to churn painfully with the thoughts that were clouding it. What was happening? I tilted my head to the side questioningly. _Click._ My movement seemed to initiate new passion in the authorities in trench coats, for they began to shoo the startled crowd off with fresh vigour. One of them approached me; I stared at him directly in the eyes.

"Miss..."

So I am female.

"Miss, are you able to stand?" His hand extended tentatively towards me. For such a respectable looking man, he seemed a bit afraid.

"I wonder why..." I muttered.

"Hmm?"

I didn't reply, but I allowed him to take my hand and help me to my feet. My wounds didn't hurt, in fact, finding the courage to look down, I discovered there wasn't even any blood at all. Unusual. Someone had cleansed me.

The man's face flooded with relief when I let his hand go, but only for an instant as he quickly recomposed himself. Two others approached me, making silly, stupid remarks about blood pressure and such. They all made such a fuss that I began to get a picture of what was going on. The screaming lady, the nearby crowd, and the comments people had made settled into the bigger picture.

"It's all so obvious..."

My words were too quiet for the men surrounding me to hear, but I said them anyway. Even if they had heard, I don't think they would pay much notice, because their minds were crowded with unexplainable questions, just like mine was.

For until a few moments ago, I was the victim.

* * *

_Swip._

The room sparked to life as the match did, and as the lamp was lit the area brightened even more. It was a very plain space, no windows or openings except for a metal door ominously blocking the exit. The walls were an unidentifiable material, gray and texture-less. I didn't bother to observe the floor. I was too busy keeping my eyes firmly trained on the man sitting on the bench in front of me.

He was not unlike the room, plain and insipid in both his features and mannerisms. Beardless, with slicked gray hair and a face which might have been chiselled out of stone, he was not pretty and not ugly. Simply bland. Of course, the flickering golden lamp added an interesting effect to his characteristics. All I could see of his eyes were two glittering orbs, not unlike a beetle's. It was ominous, but I was not intimidated.

And neither was he.

"May I have your name, miss?"

Silence.

"Miss?"

I was not being childish. I was simply contemplating. I could not remember ever having a name. Should I give him a fake one? And who was this man anyways, to ask me such questions?

"Miss!"

"I do not know."

"You can't remember, eh?" My eyes stared blankly him as he took something down in a little book. Yet my mind buzzed tensely.

"Door."

"Hmm?"

"My name is Door."

"Last name?"

Silence.

"_Last Name?"_

"Seat."

Scribbling. What was he writing in his little book? I hoped it wasn't the ugly, plain name. In truth, I had simply picked out the most prominent aspects of the room to create my pseudonym. But putting it in writing would make it an official title.

"Miss Seat, are you aware of the circumstances you were found in?"

I crooked my head.

"I was sleeping, was I not?"

"You were not breathing, for sure. Miracles are known to happen, but you had been gone for hours."

"I was not dead."

He scratched a few notes down before changing the subject, seemingly bored with my redundant answers.

"Do you know who shot you?"

"Two men in a manor."

"Which manor?"

"I do not know."

"Which men?"

"I do not know."

I knew I was trying his patience, but I did not quite care. The constant scratching of the pen in the book was beginning to irk me. _Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

"How am I to answer questions if the man who asks them has not yet given his identity?" I verbalized quietly. He gave me a look I couldn't read and did not answer. _Scratch._

"He's ugly, isn't he? Quite ugly. Not handsome at all..." I observed.

"Miss Seat. Please stick to the topic at hand."

"I wish he would go. He's clouding the atmosphere. So ugly..."

"Miss Seat, I'm warning you, I'll call in assistance..."

"...mangled, brute face..."

"She's mad!" he cried in desperation.

_CRUNCH._

My fingers closed around his neck.

I stared at him blankly.

He was so annoying.

He must go.

He was scrambling.

Why did he wriggle so?

He would last longer if he saved his energy.

Could he possibly be so dense that he'd want to die sooner?

I watched as the beetle eyes slowly lost their lustre. Almost done, almost done. He would be gone, and I, no longer burdened with a silly, stupid name like 'Door Seat', would be free. _Free_.

The silence, however, was interrupted. The big, heavy metal postern burst open with a bang. Men swarmed around us, their sheer number forcing me to release the beetle man and stumble back towards the exit. My body grew heavy as their warm figures pressed against me from all sides, pinning down my arms and legs. As they herded me into a dark hall, I caught a glimpse of the beetle man lying on the floor, surrounded by medics.

He was not moving.

* * *

"_Morning tea, Your Majesty."_

"_Thank you, Ash."_

_It was a brilliantly sunny morning in the royal chambers. The French windows were ajar, allowing warm breezes and fresh sunlight to stream into the room. Birds were singing cheerily; the window boxes were flooded with geraniums and blue-stars. It was beautiful._

_The chief resident of the home, Queen Victoria, was currently being served tea. Shrouded in black, face hidden by a thick veil, she contrasted greatly with the atmosphere. She certainly wasn't enjoying the day; in fact, she seemed rather preoccupied. _

"_Anything else you would like, Your Majesty?"_

"_One moment, Ash."_

_Her Majesty's gloved hands fingered the words on the paper she was reading, concern mounting in her thoughts. After tracing through the whole article, she turned to her butler in a manner of upmost anxiety._

"_Look here, Ash, at this article. It speaks of a murder."_

"_Oh?"_

"_Yes, but read on. The victim, who had been most definitely dead, sat up during the investigation. Completely unharmed."_

"_I see..."_

"_She had been pelted with bullets, but there was no blood. They say she's in questioning now."_

"_Perhaps the attacker had cleaned any wounds,"_

_Her Majesty paused and regarded him seriously._

"_You know what this means, Ash, you know what she must be. I order you to destroy her. If anyone were to find out what she was—"_

"_Excuse me for interrupting, Your Majesty, but that may not be the best course of action. If I may say so, miracles are prone to happening. She may just be an ordinary being. And besides, if she were to disappear, I'm afraid the consequences would be very, shall we say, unhelpful. The public would be in panic."_

"_What do you suggest?"_

"_If I may say so, I think the best course of action would be to let the investigation continue. If she is found out, I will carry out your orders and have her destroyed at once."_

"_I would agree with you; however I'm afraid even the police should not be made aware of her existence. We'll have to send her to someone who has tampered with them before. He should be able to identify her. And he must make certain not to let the media in."_

"_Your Majesty?"_

_The Queen paused to think._

"_Ash, fetch me some parchment. I need to write a letter to Ciel Phantomhive."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Oh, woe, how it so pains me to say such things, but I don't own anything of Yana's. Thank you for the views! Please enjoy the third instalment!**

******And... as a quick warning, the end of this chapter contains breif-but-a-tad-bit-descriptive gore.**

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

_The boy came across as no older than fourteen, but the solid way he had positioned himself at his desk suggested otherwise. So intent was his gaze upon the wearisome paperwork, so meticulous was his scripture; one had to contemplate the possibility that he was not really a child at all, but rather a melancholy middle-aged man. _

_He was still in his youth, however, the soft curve to his face and the intensity of his exposed eye confirmed that fact. In being so contrasted, character from truth, he was a rather interesting specimen to observe. The way his toes touched but did not quite rest on the floor, the slight curve of his mouth as he frowned at the papers scattered on the desk, and the chagrined way in which he furrowed his thin brows all suggested one quality thoroughly satisfying almost every aspect of his demeanour: childlike delicacy. _

_Now, it must be understood that no cunning young boy such as he, or any person for that manner, would like to be referred to as 'delicate'. Directly pronouncing him so would most likely result in dire punishment, given his authority. But it cannot help but be noticed by the observant, that vital fact hidden under his youthful face and brusque character._

_A knock interrupts the boy's proceedings, and he looks up, revealing a handsome eye patch beneath his hair. _

"_Enter," comes his offhand voice, and he returns his gaze to his work as a tall, dark man with an intangible aura appears from behind the door. He holds in his hands a glossy silver tray._

"_Young master, a letter."_

_The boy sets his pen on the desk and sighs. _

"_Well? What are you waiting for? Bring it forth."_

"_Yes, young master."_

_The tray is 'brought forth', and the boy plucks the letter from it. He recognizes the seal._

"_The Queen…"_

_His butler does not reply except for a mere nod. The boy breaks the seal and unfolds the high-class parchment. Minutes pass as he scans the contents, his butler waiting patiently for orders._

"_Sebastian." The master verbalizes curtly, breaking the silence._

"_Yes, my lord?" came the purr._

"_We have orders from the Queen. We are to provide room and board for a young girl. We are to report abnormalities and keep her from the media."_

"_Of course, my lord. May I ask, though, has the Queen really been so vague?"_

_The boy gave the man a look of mild distaste. _

"_I'm the Queen's guard dog, remember? I do as she asks; nothing more, nothing less." _

* * *

A sudden jolt in the proceedings of the carriage sent mud and rainwater splashing in. The men, once so stagnant beside me, rushed to clean their faces of it. How weak. Just like every other person I had met on this journey, they radiated indifference—only to prove themselves soft and yielding on the inside. An utter disappointment.

For the past forty-eight hours I had sat, stolid, barely moving from my position until the men came into my pitch-black cell and escorted out me into this coach. And here I had resumed the pose again: hands clasped, feet together, and back straight. I do admit, the circumstances made sitting so perfectly a tad bit more difficult than in the cell, but I managed anyhow; through the leaking roof and jarring road.

I felt the black carriage give a joggle as we swerved around a corner. A pitiable driver: though I was thoroughly unimpressed and not subject to sympathy for him. I made no move of agitation; partly because the men on either side of me were griping my arms so tightly, but mostly because I did not wish to. I could have easily detached them from my limbs.

Closing my eyes in utter boredom, it was then I realized the carriage had come to a steady stop. The driver was an excellent in his efforts to bring the coach to a halt, I would give him that. The men, however, proved not as skilled at finishing their job, for they hastily stood me and shoved me out into the rain. The shock and suddenness of it all sent me slamming down into the pavement, soaking me with a shock of water. How ill-fated.

Quietly lifting myself and turning to face the carriage, awaiting instruction, I found it barrelling back into the rain at top speed.

"They're scared."

Something lightly twisted in the pit of my stomach; something which might have provoked a small smile had it been any more potent. Rather, as an afterthought, I added:

"But of who?"

I gazed at the black smear until it disappeared into the greyness. At that point, my observation session was cut short by a voice—a voice as smooth as silk and as purring as a cat.

"My, that wasn't a very considerate way of treating a lady."

Upon hearing this voice, I turned to face the speaker—and found myself instead staring at a thin black tie. Automatically, I tilted my head upwards to observe his visage.

I felt a whisper of something pass through my body. It might have been wariness, but I wasn't quite sure. I paid no mind to it, and settled for the facts. It was not an awful complexion. His features were spaced evenly. The skin was perfect, almost surreal. His hair was black and long, a complete contrast to the other men I had met. But the most startling thing was this: he had red eyes.

"Whoever heard of that..." I muttered.

His smile widened as he tilted his head questioningly. When I did not elaborate, he opened his eyes and examined me head to toe.

"My, my, this won't do at all. My master will simply _not _have you in this state. I am reluctant to allow you into the manor, even. Though, orders are orders..."

He paused to contemplate me for a moment.

"Well, I suppose we shall have to get you cleaned up a bit. Let's get out of this rain, shall we?"

He offered his arm, quite calmly, and I briefly wondered if I should take it. After all, I had only just met him, and I had no idea what I had been sent to this place to do. Deciding I had no choice, I took his arm, and we leisurely waltzed through the rain.

* * *

_The boy had cleared his desk of work and was solemnly waiting for the arrival of his guest. If Sebastian had done as promised, everything should be in order. Hopefully, after the customary greeting, his company would be so occupied with her unpacking that he would be able to finish looking over a few more documents undisturbed._

_His mind had drifted far from the mansion when a quiet knock interrupted the silence._

"_You may come in."_

_Slightly curious, the boy kept his one blue eye fixed on the door as it opened, but casually tuned his gaze away as Sebastian stepped into the room._

"_Young master," the butler announced with a bow, "May I present Lady Ann Russe. Lady Russe, this is my master, Earl Ciel Phantomhive."_

_Ciel stood, as was traditional, as the door exposed his guest. _

"_Milady, I welcome you."_

_After a short bow, he lifted his eyes to the figure before him. He started, taken aback._

_The girl was colourless. Her lips and cheeks held no rosy tint, her hair was a dull faded blonde, and even her eyes lacked lustre. Porcelain was the best way to put it, especially when he took into account how thin and delicate her arms were; they looked almost breakable. Her neck was longer and more slender than orthodox. Her face was thin and pixie-like. She might have been pretty had she not been so monochrome. _

_The worst though, perhaps, was her expression. Or rather, lack of. Her eyes were heavily-lidded and staring decisively at him. Her mouth was perfectly straight, with the corners turned down at the ends. There were no wrinkles of happiness or pleasure in her skin, and her stance was prim, proper, and without fault._

_Discomforted, he looked towards her ensemble for condensation. Sebastian had obviously just finished with her, her hair had a flimsy, vigorously-brushed look and she had been stuffed into a fresh green dress. Recognizing it with a pang of annoyance, he turned to his butler._

"_Forgive me," was the quick response, "Her dress had been ruined by the rain and she did not bring another."_

_Ciel looked back to the girl wearing his mother's gown and sighed._

"_No, it's fine. Sebastian, please show our guest to her chambers. Milady, it was good to meet you."_

_As soon as they were gone, Ciel slumped into his chair, pressing a finger to his temple. He was relieved to have the ominous thing out of his study, but considering she would be infesting his house for an unknown amount of time, that wasn't a complete comfort. Her whole aura radiated threat; though he could not imagine why. On the whole, she seemed mildly familiar... _

_But he was sure he had never seen her before._

_Eager to distract himself, he opened his desk, dropped upon it a fresh stack of documents, and began to read. _

_It wasn't until much later that he realized he had not heard his guest utter a single word. _

* * *

The door closed quietly behind me, trapping me in the room. I stood, unmoving, staring at the large bed, thinking. The boy had been scared, too. That was obvious. Unlike the others I had met, though, he had shrouded it effectively with a heavy layer of apathy. The things a child could do...

Without moving, I allowed my eyes to scan the perimeter of the room. It was large, comfortable, and dimly lit by a single lamp. It screamed masculinity in its colour scheme and build, but I could care less. The furniture was sturdy, modest, and free of dust.

That was very good.

The room had been furnished with a large, four poster bed, two plush armchairs, a nightstand, and a bureau. I began to step about it all; running a finger over each polished surface, making sure every area was free of the dust I hated so much. The search proved fruitless, so I paused in mild satisfaction at the bureau.

"A tidy place, indeed."

Deciding to retire, I lifted my eyes and received quite a shock. Someone was staring at me from behind the escritoire. She was a girl, blonde hair slipping gently down to her waist, hands clasped to each other. I liked her eyes, I decided. They were large and brown, even though they lacked life.

I lifted my chin in a form of greeting, but halted when she made the same gesture. Suspicious, I raised my left hand and extended it towards the intruder. She extended her right in the same motion.

And then, as our hands touched, I realized she was not an intruder at all, and this was simply a looking-glass, placed strategically on the wall. The mirror was smooth and cool against my fingertips, but I withdrew as the realization coursed through my head. The girl in the mirror...

"You are me."

As I spoke she did, confirming it was true. I must admit, it was a shock to find that her hair was mine, her skin was mine, and her beautiful, beautiful eyes were mine.

All mine.

I lifted my finger to the glass again and traced a pattern into the mirror, creating a faint smear where I slid it. Drawing back, I read the words. _Ann Russe._

"The girl in the mirror is named Ann Russe. What an ugly name. It doesn't fit her at all. The butler has poor taste."

Not wanting to look upon it any longer, I began to examine the green dress the girl was wearing. It was fresh and bright, obviously at the height of fashion at one time.

"But it is not hers."

I found myself hating the thing more and more. It was not hers, it did not fit her, it was ugly.

"Ugly."

With the word came the rip, and I tore the dress in a manically slow manner from my body. It came in two, the seemingly sturdy fabric easily coming apart in my hands.

"Ugly. Ugly. Ugly."

I sunk into the pile of growing fabric as I shredded the thing into pieces.

"Ugly."

It was done, now, just a pile of green material on the floor. Finding nothing else worthy of tearing, I sat in my pile and considered an idea my exposed body had brought to me. Quietly deciding to act, I rose and returned to the looking-glass.

_SHRIP._

I opened the corset with unnecessary force. It came apart in two pieces. I cast them aside.

I now examined my bare torso. As expected, an abundance of the tiny holes littered it. There was no blood or gore, excepting the deep purple bruises surrounding each puncture. My fingers teased around the edge of one. It did not hurt.

"The decision is made."

I needed to find the truth buried inside of me. Therefore, with certainty, I moved my finger to the opening of the wound and plunged it inside.

I was harder than I expected. Denser. It made it difficult to work my finger in, but I persisted. I was strong.

Eventually, I found what I was looking for. My finger, now deep inside the puncture, touched it curiously. It was there, all right, but was it what I searched for? Only my eyes could confirm it existed. Therefore, with all my might, I forced my hand in an inch deeper and curled my finger around what I needed.

Unhurriedly, I began to work my twisted finger out. Withdrawing my hand was harder than snaking it in, for my finger was bent and twice as thick as when it had gone inside before. It took time, but eventually I plucked the thing from the depths of my body. I felt it in my hand: cold, sharp, broken.

My hand uncurled to examine the bullet. So the holes were not some invention of my subconscious mind, the proof was here. But how could I be alive? How could I withstand a peppering of deep puncture wounds such as these?

My eyes found the looking-glass again. Bored with it, I curled the bullet in my fist and lifted the glass off the wall. I turned it away from me, too tired and thoughtful to break it just yet. Weary and ready for peace, I crossed the room and dropped the bullet in the nightstand. I slipped beneath the blankets of the bed.

My breath extinguished the lamp.

The room plunged into the ineradicable black.


	4. Chapter 4

**All I can say? School's been a monster. I'll try to update more frequently! –_–**

**Alas, I don't own Kuroshitsuji.**

* * *

I had not slept.

The bed was adequate, the room was warm, and my eyes were closed, but I was not graced with slumber. Instead, I patiently waited through the darkness. It was indeed a dull course of action, but it was the only course I had due to the fact that my room had been anonymously locked. I was trapped.

For most of night, I had thought of nothing. But in the few hours before sunrise I experienced a strange visualization. It was almost like a dream (though I distinctly remember being conscious). It had been triggered by observing the clock ticking in the far corner of the room. The swinging of the golden pendulum had reminded me of another pendulum I knew, and suddenly my head was alive with swaying silver chains and tarnished little hearts. The vision induced the feeling that I should be frightened, but I could not bring myself to feel so. Therefore, I closed my eyes and waited for the sickening swinging to stop.

At last, a hint of light peeked through the dark curtains. Impatient, I decided to sit up. My joints were stiff again, but I ignored them as I clumsily adjusted myself on the bed. The door had not been unlocked yet, or I would have heard the key. Therefore, instead of exiting the dreary quarters as I would have liked, I let my ankles cross daintily over the edge of the bed. I sat primly and waited to be released.

A flood of golden light had made its way halfway across the room when I heard the turning of a key. The door opened with a quick pop, and I caught a glimpse of red hair and a pair of big round spectacles before the owner of the items emitted a gasp and quickly disappeared again. My head clouded with irritation. Did she expect to find an empty room?

I then considered the fact that my torso was exposed and completely littered with bullet holes. I supposed it must have been a bit unpleasant to view, so I leisurely pulled the ripped blouse over the gore.

"Is she going to come in?" I spoke aloud, and the jittery thing came tripping through the door. Her eyes darted to my torso and to my face before coming to rest on the pile of green material shredded leisurely on the floor.

"Oh, yes, Miss, 'scuse me, Miss, I was just… oh… Oh! Erm, that was the master's mother's dress there, that was, Miss…"

Her hands raked through the green silk, and she stepped back as she found it was ruined.

"Oh! Erm, no matter, Miss, I'll clean that up for you, I will—and I'll dress yeh too in a moment, Miss."

I watched her flutter about, hurrying to dispose of the material and knocking over a pitcher of water in the process. I returned my gaze to the door as she worked, pleased to find it was now open. The hall was much brighter than it had been when I came. I was sick of the room. I wanted to leave.

"No, Miss! Not in yer unmentionables!"

I had reached the door, but was cut short of leaving by the fluttery maid. I didn't resist, although my instincts were to grab her around the neck. I let her lead me to the bed and cautiously replace my ripped blouse with a fresh one, avoiding contact with my wounds. The material was scratchy.

The clock ticking on the wall alerted me to the fact that an hour had passed. The maid had just finished suffocating me with layer upon layer of fabric, and my hair had been fussed with. She had even the nerve to paint my lips and cheeks with colour, at 'the request of Young Master, Miss'. She stood still for once, regarding her work. I dully observed the ticking of the clock.

"Now, Miss, please, this dress is also an heirloom of Young Master's mother, it is, try not to spoil it."

I took that as my right of passage, and started towards the hall.

"_No, Miss!"_

The maid had grabbed my arm, but I continued to walk. I was sick of the disgusting room. I wanted freedom.

"Miss Ann,"

The voice was not that of the maid, but the velvety-familiar tone of the dark butler.

"Mey-Rin, please let go of our guest, thank you. Now, Miss Ann, I'm afraid you'll have to keep occupied in your bedchamber for today. I'd be happy to bring you anything you can wish for to ease your stay. And I assure you, tomorrow we will provide you with free access to anywhere on the grounds you would like to go, to make up for this unforgivable flaw in our hospitality. A fine breakfast is being brought up to you at this very moment."

Here the butler paused and eyed the maid, who gasped and bustled out the door to fetch the meal. He allowed her to pass, and I made a move to follow, but the butler darted to block me.

"I am terribly sorry, Miss. I truly am. But an order _is_ an order."

I lifted my eyes to him innocently.

"Why will he not let me pass? I only wish to be free. This must be a house of savages, who know not how to treat a guest."

The butler bowed at my voice.

"My young master has a guest visiting for tea and luncheon today. We wish not to trouble you with the complications of tailoring to this particular guest's needs. You shall stay here, and your meal will be brought up shortly."

These last words were spoken with authority, and I let him leave without argument. I heard the lock click.

"This is an asylum," I mused dreamily. "They have brought me here to suffer. I will kill them all; soon… they will all be dead…"

I touched my hand to the door with the intention of knocking it down, but drew back and revised. The child in a lord's clothing posed no threat, and neither did the clumsy maid. But the butler seemed to radiate an aura of ominous power, and I was sure he was not to be tangled with. The noise from the door would send him running for me, and I would not be able to escape.

Irked, I ran my finger along the wall, scratching a deep mark into it. I needed to get out, but the only other means of leaving was the window. I could survive a three-story fall, but to slink about the grounds, peeking in windows, was disgraceful.

"I will leave here proudly."

My thoughts were interrupted by a click of a key as the timid maid, 'Mey-Rin', entered the room with my tray. Upon meeting my eyes she gave a start. The tray dropped towards the floor and hit with a rattling crash.

"Oh, no, Miss! God, I'm sorry! I'll clean it up!"

"I wonder when the scum will leave."

The red-head whimpered and bowed herself out of the room, leaving the mess. I observed it quietly. A croissant, two eggs, a slice of bacon, a sweet-dough pastry, and a jug of milk which had been turned over and was now seeping onto the floor. I leaned over to trace my finger in the liquid, when a notion presented itself to me. I fingered the polished fork and plucked it delicately from the mess. It would do nicely.

I quietly approached the door and listened for any disturbances, hearing none, I quietly reached to place the fork at the base of one of the hinges on the wall. With a quick application of pressure, the bolt was plucked from the hinge. I placed it quietly on the floor.

"One."

With this announcement, I began to work on the next one. With two quick _pops_, I had successfully unhinged the door. I crushed my fingers into the tight space between it and the frame and slowly opened it as the metal lock bent.

"I am out."

To avoid suspicion, I slowly pulled the door back into its place.

"And I am free."

* * *

_The gray little boy was drowsily stirring his tea as the girl opposite him chatted happily. It was as if every visit his fiancé paid got chattier and chattier. The bright side to her constant chatter was that she never seemed to stop for breath, and he had to make no effort to give any input. _

_The two were sitting comfortably at the boy's polished dining table. It was quite early for a visit, and the boy had been working late into the night, which made her presence a tad bit more irksome than usual. Nevertheless, he kept silent as she spoke, and he went on stirring his tea._

_At one point in the golden-haired girl's monologue, she paused to drink some tea. The boy gave a start and stopped stirring long enough to take a sip of his own Earl Grey, only to find it ice cold. Disgusted, he set the cup on the table and lifted his eyes to meet hers—except she was too busy talking to one of the servants about her tea to notice._

_So the gray boy sank back in his chair, rested his head in his palm, and went about stirring more sugar into his beverage._

_The girl chatted on. _

_And then the boy noticed it. The girl wouldn't, of course, her back was to the door, and she carried along without worries. The boy, however, kept his eyes fixed on the threat, heart gone cold._

_There was a hand in the doorway._

_The hand was clinging onto the frame of the doorway, stiff and resolved. The boy was quite sure he knew who it belonged to. The hand was white, very white, so white and colourless he could narrow it down to two people. And his butler certainly didn't have the gall to cling onto door frames. That meant—_

_It must be the girl._

_The white, colourless girl with dead eyes and dusty hair who was _supposed_ to be locked away in her chamber. What had Sebastian done? He was under specific instructions—!_

_Feeling his stomach lurch, he focused all attention on his twittering fiancé. The dusty girl _mustn't _come any further. What would his fiancé say about the dusty girl's ratty appearance or strange mannerisms? How was he supposed to explain a top secret case from the Queen? And how would the _Queen _react if she discovered her case had been leaked? The boy knew his fiancé, and his fiancé would not keep a secret. For long, anyway._

_The boy glanced back at the door and felt a pang of real, detestable fear as his blue eye came in contact with a brown one. She was peeking out of the darkness at them, her big, dead brown eye unmoving and studying the two at the table. The boy inched back in his seat and silently begged his butler would come and the dust girl would go away. _

"_So then they tried to fit me into a _purple _dress…"_

_His fiancé hadn't noticed. She was still smacking away, sipping tea and enjoying herself immensely. Determined not to be surprised again, the boy returned his gaze to the door and jumped. The dust girl was standing, perfectly framed in the doorway. She gazed at the table curiously._

_The fiancé had noticed his jump and trailed off in her speech. Following his gaze, she slowly turned around and jumped herself. The dust girl, having full attention now, stepped forwards into the light._

_At first, the boy was in awe. His maid had cleaned the girl up nicely. She wore his mother's red-striped dress. The collar was high, which made her long neck look, well, normal… or maybe even appealing. Her yellow hair had been pinned high. The results of this change meant she looked much less like an animal, and a little bit more like a princess. And as consequence of his order, her lips and cheeks had been tinted. It provided the most drastic improvement. She was no longer colourless. She was fresh, alive, and now that they saw her in her fullest glory, beautiful. _

_The eyes hadn't changed though. They were what tugged the boy back into the reality of the situation. His guest was in complete shock._

"_Sebastian."_

_At once the butler was at his side._

"_Master—I apologize—I had no idea—"_

"_No need for that now. Show her back to her room, and bring me fresh tea." _

_The butler made a move for the quiet intruder, but was interrupted by a hysterical cry._

"_She lives here?!" The green-eyed fiancé asks._

"_No—well, yes at the moment—" _

_The gray little boy almost gasped aloud as she realized what it looked like to his dainty little guest. He was hiding a girl, a particularly pretty young girl in a fine dress, in the upstairs chambers. What had he done?_

"_Ciel—but—she—"_

"_The pitiful thing shrieks. Make it stop."_

_The room went silent. The murmur had been low and barely audible, yet it seemed to reverberate about the parlour. The boy stared at the intruder, stomach sinking and feeling sick as he realized what a terrible breach in etiquette the dust girl had made. How dare she?!_

_And then, tears were welling up in the fiancé's green eyes and she was dashing out of the room. Sobbing. The boy was following her, hate welling in his chest as he glared at the dead-eyed girl._

"_Sebastian, take her up to her room and serve her lunch. I plan to speak with her later."_

The imbeciles housing me were indignant. I could not understand why. I had said nothing wrong…

I couldn't bring myself to care though. I was served lunch and moved to a room on the second floor as the previous room had a door that needed to be fixed. The new room provided new interest, but I knew it was to become my prison cell and I would eventually grow tired of it.

"Lizzy!"

I was sitting near the window, gazing at the fine lunch they had offered me. Glancing back outside, I watched the 'young master' dash across the lawn towards his love.

"How childish he looks…"

"Lizzy, what on earth are you doing in the flower bed? It's most unsightly."

The child had found his guest, a weak little thing she was, crying in the dirt beneath my window. I had been watching her for some time now as a search party had been conducted in other areas.

"Lizzy, stop crying, you—"

"Oh, because I'm a 'pitiable little thing'!" she cried.

"Lizzy, listen, that girl—"

"What is that girl doing, living in your house, anyway!? Why didn't you tell me, Ciel!? She's pretty… or perhaps _you _didn't _notice!_"

"Lizzy, shh, please, listen… she's here on orders from the Queen. It's top secret, you mustn't tell anyone…"

"Oh _that's_ why she's here!"

"Do you think I'm lying?"

The guest was silent. From above, I could tell she was calculating. The young master seemed to be calculating as well.

"Lizzy, I lov—I love you. Nobody else."

Again, all was quiet, excepting the birds twittering in the trees. Suddenly, with a blast of annoyingness that wafted past my window, the girl squealed and leaped upon the boy.

"Oh, Ciel! I knew, I just knew! I can't believe you said it!"

"O-of course, er..."

The girl was a squealing mess. I looked away from the window, almost sickened, and almost feeling sorry for the boy in the flower bed below.


End file.
